


Beautiful Lie

by Itsuey



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:59:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsuey/pseuds/Itsuey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why does James hate being touched so much?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Lie

It was a beautiful day, James mused as he strolled across the grassy campus towards his accommodation block, pushing up the sleeves of his long shirt as best he could with only one hand free, his other being occupied by a strategically balanced pile of unbound sheet music which he had just spent a half hour putting in the correct order. He stuck to the shade of the sparse trees as much as he could and skirted around the edge of a group of punks lying in the grass listening to something he deemed to be a terrible racket. Safely out of ear shot of any around him, James hummed the newest piece he had been learning, something by Bach, but the name went out of his mind when he heard a shout from around the side of the hideous concrete building which had been his home for almost a year.

He almost believed he had imagined it when there was no response, and he made to walk on until he hear a smothered high-pitched scream, and the voice most people learned to fear the moment they stepped onto campus.

“Thinking of running were you, faggot?”

A sickening crunch followed by a whimper gave the distinct impression that Bruce had just kicked the unfortunate young man in the ribs. James took the few steps onto the concrete paving that would allow him to look down the side of the building and froze at the sight which greeted him.   
David, the young man’s name was; a drama student a year above James, cowering upon the floor, pushed up against the wall, dark hair out of control and his eyes wide and scared. James couldn’t move; his body was frozen, unsure as to whether he should run in and help or run away and cower. The decision was made for him when the brutal third year caught sight of him.

“Come to save your boyfriend have you May?”

James’ eyes widened in shock, wondering how this man knew him, he was of no importance, and he’d gone to great lengths to lay low around the university, making himself as inconspicuous as possible.

“I know who everyone is May, there’s no one who can hide from me, especially not queers like you and Anderson here.” He gave the drama student a vindictive kick to the ribs, laughing as the injured man coiled into a ball around his battered torso. 

James feet came unstuck and he made to run for it, cursing himself for his cowardice but he got no further than three steps before a large hand was around his bicep, crushing the muscle and dragging him into the twilight of the shaded area. He closed his eyes and felt his head crack against something solid, the sheets of music he had so meticulously sorted through torn from his hands and his wrists forced together above his head. He was pinned by a grasp so secure he could barely move and forced his eyes open; he had to know what was going on, had to see what was about to happen to him. 

Bruce was an inch from his face, leering at him, murky brown eyes full of perverse glee and hunger. James flinched away as best he could with the wall behind him.

“Oh I wouldn’t go doing that if I were you,” the older man whispered in his ear, the malicious sickening tone going straight through him. “I might start to think you enjoy this.”  
James shook his head frantically, long hair falling in his eyes, obscuring his view temporarily. “Please Bruce, let me go, I’ve done nothing to you.”

The sadistic grin became a face of rage, as though dark thunder clouds had suddenly overcome the frightening visage. 

James felt the hands around his wrists slacken and he tensed up, preparing himself for the short sprint back out into the sunlight, into the world that seemed so different from the one of horror he currently existed in. An arm around his waist stopped him before he could escape, drawing him into a sickening parody of an embrace, his chest against the wall and Bruce close against his back. Claustrophobia overcame him and he began to struggle, scratching the hand which once again captured his wrists above his head. Instead he kicked backwards, forcing his body into contact with the older man’s.

Bruce was hard.

He froze, terrified as a groan reached his ears. Surely he wasn’t...

“This is the only way to punish freaks like you James, you know that.”

He couldn’t move, not even the hot breath on his cheek or the swipe of a wet tongue down his neck could coax his body into motion. He could feel Bruce grin against his skin, could imagine the horrid sadistic expression there.

“I knew you’d understand.”

Understand what?

There was a hand on his stomach, tracing the buttons down his shirt towards his trousers, a hand on his belt, caressing the leather, drawing it through the metal buckle. He could hear the clink of the fastening coming undone. Please, God no, he prayed, closing his eyes firmly and resting his head against the wall before him. Surely this was some horrible horrible joke; he was going to stop before it went too far. 

The hand was now inside his jeans, cold against his heated skin and James was horrified to find himself reacting to the touch, his cock hardening in response to the calculated groping. A tear escaped his eye and his breath hitched, forcing himself to be still. He didn’t want this, didn’t want to react like this, but his body was paying no attention to his thoughts and he found his hips bucking against the wonderful hand in his boxers, whimpering through the tears which fell freely. He tried to think of anything else, anything but this. He ran through Pi as far as he could in his head and then tried to remember how an internal combustion engine worked, but to no avail. 

“You love this don’t you James, you want me to touch you, you want me to fuck you,” the harsh whisper in his ear made him jump and he shook his head frantically. 

“No, please, don’t,” he trailed off pathetically as the hand left him and tugged his jeans and boxers down around his ankles. The cold air on him was a shock to his overheated skin and he suddenly realised with horrible clarity what was about to happen to him. He panicked, breath coming in short spurts, his muscles tensed and he jerked away from the sound of Bruce’s zipper being pulled down. 

The hand around his wrists tightened again, reminding him of where he was, of just how helpless the situation was... Bruce’s other hand was back on his cock, stroking him firmly, unrelentingly as he cried, not even bothering to try and stop the tears now. The sudden pressure at his entrance caused him to breathe in too harshly, chocking on the air as he tried to calm himself. Bruce didn’t move.

It seemed like an eternity before his breathing was back to normal and still the older man was holding him against the wall, hot breath on the back of his neck, one hand curled around his hip. He could almost pretend this were consensual-

Pain. Absolute, searing, blinding white pain everywhere exploded inside him, radiating outwards from his arse. Bruce had buried himself to the hilt in one movement, heedless of the lack of lubricant or preparation. James bit back a scream as teeth embedded themselves in his shoulder, Bruce’s hips drawing back only to snap forwards again, driving another wave of agony through James’ abused body. 

He hung his head in shame, briefly wondering what he did to get himself into this situation, body shuddering with the force of another thrust. He found it didn’t hurt so much anymore, it still felt as though he were being torn in two, but his blood was easing the friction between them, making the coupling smoother, less jerky, more-

“Ohhhhh,” suddenly there were dancing lights behind his eye lids, sparkles that tingled through his body, reawakening his previously uninterested cock. 

“Like that do you?” He did it again, snapping his hips at the same angle, the bloody channel easing the way perfectly for a harsh impact against James’ prostate. 

The younger man moaned again, louder this time, fighting the urge to move his own hips in a counter rhythm, to increase the wonderful sensation every time he hit that spot.   
Bruce was whispering in his ear again, horrible things, telling him he’s a whore, a slut, but right now he doesn’t care, all he can care about is that his hands are free and he’s bracing himself against the wall, shoving his hips back into that wonderful borderline of pain and pleasure and forwards into the hand that wraps itself around him, jerking him in a stuttering rhythm and suddenly the pleasure is more than the pain, too much, everything’s too much and he’s screaming through his orgasm, cumming hard against the concrete wall, feeling Bruce’s final harsh thrust and his release stinging and burning and searing through him. 

He choked out a cry, whimpering as the older man pulled back, withdrawing from him with a horrible sound and James could feel the horrific mixture of blood and semen leak from his torn entrance, seeping down his thighs. It itched horribly but he couldn’t move, couldn’t bring himself to move from his position, fearing that if he did it would make everything worse, but eventually he had to, and he eased himself away from the wall, sliding down it to sit on the floor with a pained whimper.

David was long gone, he’d probably legged it as soon as he’d had the chance, James thought, wondering why he hadn’t done the same. Bruce’s words came floating back to him through his pain hazed head, “you want this, you want me to fuck you.” A tear ran down James’ face as he realised he hadn’t put up a fight at all, hadn’t even denied the accusations against his sexuality, he’d just stood there and let himself be fucked till he bled and he’d enjoyed it. He’d cum. Whilst being raped. 

The tears came again, this time harder than before, shame, horror and guilt pouring out of him as he drew his legs up to his chest, hoping against hope that no one saw him, he couldn’t bear to face anyone right now, not after what he’d just done, what he’d allowed to be done to him. How long before people knew he was a sick bastard who got off on being raped? How long before he was shunned by everyone he knew, before his parents found out and withdrew his funding? How long before he found himself without a job, without an education... 

A rumble of thunder overhead was the only warning he got before the heavens opened up above him and the late spring rain came pouring down from above, soaking him within seconds, chilling him to the bone, and yet still he sat there, unwilling to move, unwilling to go home. He couldn’t face them now, not right now. Wet hair clung to his face as he struggled to pull on his drenched boxers and jeans from where they had remained around his ankles. He couldn’t stand, the pain lanced through him again like a red hot poker and he slid back down onto the ground, knowing no one was going to find him there. 

He fell into a fitful sleep on the unforgiving harsh ground, heedless of the rain washing the ink from his papers, the notes running into one another and sliding from the page. The storm continued on through the night and into the next morning, raging its way out at three ‘o’ clock when James finally made it back to his room, cold, sick and exhausted.


End file.
